a/n: man fuck this song it did something to my brain and i dont quite like it. so heres nearly 3k about it. I guess. Whatever. vane lily you owe me monetary compensation for making butcher vanity =_=
The Tear floats gently in front of you.
It’s loop… something or other. Have you hit 50 yet? 100? 200?
You can’t remember. Not like you’ve ever been particularly good at remembering in general, but you were hoping to keep track of this at least.
Oh well.
What you do know is that there is a ringing in your ears and a buzzing in your hands and you feel so blinding stupid because you forgot to pick up a key on the previous floor before advancing. So now you’re here. You’re here and you have to kill yourself freeze yourself in time because of your dumb, idiot brain letting you forget something integral. Again.
Your party stands behind you in a line, diligently waiting for your next move. Do they know? Do they know what you’re about to do? Does it ultimately even matter, since these versions will cease to exist in only a few moments more?
Does any of this matter?
…You don’t want to think about this right now.
You let your eyelid fall and reach out to the bouncing stillness and pray your absolution is swift.
Behind you, Mira gasps.
“Siff—!”
(You had a good rest.)
The way the world lurches around you before rewinding never fails to leave you feeling sick to your stomach. You bring your arms to wrap around your midsection protectively and look around.
You’re… back in Dormont.
Ugh. You didn’t mean to loop back this far. Now you’ll have to do all those stupid blinding puzzles again…
You sigh heavily and close your eye, deciding to rest in the field a bit longer. Mira would be by to come get you soon anyways, just like always. It wasn’t like you—
Sinew easily rips from the force of your ravenous clawing. You want to reach the pancreas. She’s so sweet, you’re sure the healthy organ would simply be to die for.
You imagine her face smiling at you. Pushing you silently to continue and take whatever you’d like from her and then some. Giggling and telling you to make sure to save room for the others.
You pause in your ruination to look at her lolling head. Her irises have long since lost all light in them, rolled up as high as they can go. Her mouth has no expression and her lips are a lighter shade than they should be, you think. Her puffy hair is being flattened without regard by the weight of her stiff skull.
She looks nothing like she did in life.
You smile softly.
You’ll miss her bright face, silly words, lovely laugh… You really will.
But you can’t ever lose her now if you do this, can you? She’ll never truly leave you again!
Isn’t that just wonderful?
Your hands fly up to your mouth as your cheeks hollow uselessly. You never actually had anything before dinner on the day before entering the House proper, so there’s nothing to expel from your gut.
You kind of wish there was.
You dry heave for longer than you think is strictly healthy. When Mirabelle comes to get you, she frets and frets and it’s all you can do to quickly reassure her you’re fine so she’ll leave. It takes some convincing and exactly one usage of a Super Sparkle Heal, but eventually she waves and exits downstage.
You watch her go, boring holes into her back. Even when the skirt of her dress has left your vision, you still feel sick.
You don’t think about it. You can’t think about it. You won’t.
You have a House to conquer. A King to defeat. A country to save. You can’t dwell on every stupid dream that made itself known. No matter how awful it was.
You have to keep going.
Get back on stage, Siffrin.
You keep this mindset unwaveringly for a good couple of loops more. By the time you get stuck again, the lingering thoughts of blood coating your fingers is nothing more than a distant memory.
You’re staring at one of the second floor puzzles now, fighting for your life trying to parse it. You’ve done this one millions of times by now it feels like. So why can’t you remember it?
After what feels like hours of being rooted to the spot, you groan loudly and turn away, beckoning everyone to follow you elsewhere. There were other things you could figure out right now, weren’t there? You’re pretty sure there was.
Not for the first time you curse the sieve that is your mind. You hate having things slip away from you at any and every given moment. It’s tiresome! It’s agonizing! It’s—
“Sif!! Watch out!!”
You are too lost in thought. You keep walking as you turn to look behind you, ready to question Isa on what’s wrong and then—
(You had a sudden slumber.)
A clear sky greets you. Your head hurts.
Did you… did you just walk into a blinding Tear? Just?? Right into it??? Even after Isa had tried to warn you????
You take a deep breath in… and out.
You wanted to do something drastic, though you didn’t know what. Just… something. Anything.
You feel stupid for not paying enough attention now. Sure, Isa was perceptive, but it was your job to watch out for traps! You were pretty sure that also included the large globs of endlessness dotted around everywhere!! You—
His pharynx crushes pitifully under your heavy hold. You giggle. Oops.
Destroying him wasn’t your goal. You really just wanted to see if and when and how it would start to give way. He was so pretty, always looking so rough and tumble. You were curious how far you could go before putting a dent in that.
Oh well. No harm, no foul. It wasn’t like you could kill him deader than he already was, after all!
You tenderly remove your hand and scan his body. His arms were held protectively over his chest, like he was trying to save himself even in death. It was adorable, really. And it doubled in giving you an extraordinary idea.
Wouldn’t his heart taste marvelous? He always went on and on about it being so delicate, after all.
The world shifts. You were resting on your knees next to his limp head before, and now you’re directly above him, rending his torso asunder. The delicate way you were handling him earlier has been thrown out in favor of wild, gluttonous expurgation. You are positively wolfish in your attempts to reach your coveted prize.
Gore thickly cakes your gloveless hands. You had opted to remove them, wanting to feel every single sensation that came with dismantling him. The way organs bubbled when you squeezed them. The way his bones were big and bold and cracked ever so easily with just a bit of concentrated force.
It was delightful.
When you finally unearth your treasure, you halt all movement so you can admire it as you try to catch your breath.
The organ lays there still, not even gracing you with one last pump. You had expected as much of course, considering its host had long since surpassed the need for it to do as such. Still, you pout a little. You would have liked to at least see it dance a little.
Oh well, oh well. Nothing to be done about it now.
Cautiously, carefully, meticulously, you remove his heart from its natural environment and hold it close to your face. It truly is a marvel.
You open your mouth.
You’re screaming.
Mirabelle is here. When did she get here?
She’s—she’s saying things but…
Stars. Your head hurts so bad. So, so, so bad.
You can’t really process anything. You think she’s trying to get you to breathe with her, but you can’t. You can’t.
You can’t.
You can’t, you can’t, you can’t—!
(You forgot how to breathe.)
You can’t so much as glance in Isabeau’s direction for more loops than you care to count. The simple idea of it, of seeing his smiling face, his plump, lively skin, his unendingly beating chest—
You want to hurl.
You don’t, though.
You simply press forward.
House to conquer. King to defeat. Country to save.
Play your part, Siffrin.
You don’t know how many more loops you suffer through before Odile comes to your side during a snack break.
“Siffrin,” she says. You think you should startle, considering you weren’t expecting her to talk to you, but you’re so tired. So you just turn to her, feeling weariness pull at your eye.
“Yes,” you acknowledge, forgetting to make it a question. You don’t care enough to try again.
Odile levels you with a look that you’d have to be even more blind to not see the worry in. “...You aren’t eating.” It’s all she says.
You glance down at your hands. In them are sugary slices of pineapple.
You don’t remember picking these. You don’t even remember them being placed into your care. Why did you have these?
“...Not hungry,” you answer simply. You can tell you’re starting to shake. You hope Odile can’t.
“Siffrin,” she says again, more urgency in her tone, “You’re always hungry.” She frowns. “Is something the matter?”
Is something the matter, she says. Ha. Ha ha. What wasn’t.
“M’fine,” you opt to say instead. What did it matter, after all? You didn’t feel like you were going to be successful in this attempt either. Telling her anything wouldn’t make a difference. It might even make things worse, actually.
The old woman in front of you once again opens her mouth and speaks your name and you snap.
“WHAT?” you snarl, rage and hurt and anguish spilling over. “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”
Odile blinks, hand just barely covering her mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the other three looking at you.
They look.
Scared.
You feel yourself tremble and quake and your face screws up before—
“OOOH, POOR LITTLE SIFFRIN DOESN’T FEEL LIKE EATING? THERE MUST BE SOMETHING WRONG WITH HIM THEN!! OBVIOUSLY WE CAN’T JUST LEAVE HIM BE!! WE HAVE TO TRY AND FIX HIM!!!”
Words explode out of your mouth faster than you can vet them.
“YOU THINK I CAN’T HEAR THE PITY IN YOUR VOICE? IS THAT ALL I AM TO YOU? SOMETHING TO BE PITIED?”
You can’t stop yourself.
“WELL I DON’T WANT IT! I DON’T WANT YOUR STARFORSAKEN PITY!! YOU WANT TO FIX ME SO BAD? FINE!! I’LL DO IT MYSELF!!!”
You shove all of the fruit into your mouth and swallow it in one fell swoop, leaving you breathing heavy with exhaustion.
Everyone stares at you.
You stare back.
…You think you regret—
(Spicy.)
You heave in a breath of air as you shoot up from where you lay in Dormont’s clearing.
You can’t breathe.
You scared them. You scared them. You’ve been trying so, so, so hard to protect them and get them out of these stupid blinding loops and instead you scared them.
Your head feels light.
Mirabelle… Isabeau… Bonnie… Odi—
“To reach the spleen, you have to go through the left rib cage,” she instructs with detached clinicalness. “It’s right above the stomach. You do know where the stomach is located, yes?”
You nod and get to work.
“Do be sure nothing goes to waste, hm?” she manages to smirk. “You might as well save the offal for a later time as well. No need to overencumber yourself right now. I’m sure it can service as a good snack whenever you get peckish again.”
You nonchalantly pull arteries apart while carelessly bursting vein after vein. Not much reason to show respect. You didn’t think she cared much either, honestly. Not like she’d be using this body much longer, anyways.
You snap rib after rib after rib. If she feels any sort of pain, she doesn’t make it known. You can see her steadily losing her hold on life, though. Her normally steady and dark irises are beginning to lighten and grow hazy at the edges.
“You ought to hurry if you still wish for a captive audience,” she jokes. “I can only Slow the process of death but so much. And I don't exactly have the ability to Craft anymore.” As if to demonstrate, she pathetically moves a single finger on her outstretched hand. You can feel the attempt at using a Craft, but it fizzles out almost immediately.
She laughs. It’s weak.
“Gems alive,” she wheezes, looking off to the side with a pinched smile. “To think this is how I would meet the Expressions.” Her head droops forward towards you. She looks almost serene. “Well. If it had to be like this, and by anyone, I suppose I’m glad it’s you, Siffrin.”
You smile back lovingly and raise the masterpiece you were searching for in the air. “Found it,” you say simply.
She hums and lets her eyes slip closed. “Good job, young one. Remember to devour it in as little bites as you can manage.”
You nod.
She doesn’t see.
Her breath is shallow.
She’s dying.
You take a bite.
She’ll be with you forever.
This time when the Housmaiden comes to gather you, the script falls from your lips in an easily rehearsed manner.
She leaves.
You throw up stomach bile for what feels like hours.
Bonnie stares at you with empty eyes. It’s the first thing you’re cognizant of. Just their dark, wide, cold eyes peering at you.
You blink.
Around you is nothing more than a void, broken up by only the small child standing inches away from you.
Where… Where were you…?
…Maybe Bonnie knew?
You open your mouth, ready to make your inquiry, but…
Nothing comes out.
You… You try again.
It doesn’t. Work.
Why can’t you talk?
“Frin,” Bonnie says flatly. You whip your head up and hastily nod at them, trying to push them to continue talking. And though they do, you get the distinct feeling that they would have regardless of your encouragement. “Is it my turn now?”
…Their turn?
Something drops heavily from the sky and lands with a disgustingly vile sounding splat in front of you. Something else clatters and clangs out from it as well, just barely being missed by the obscenely bright spotlight that suddenly falls upon the star of the show shortly after.
Your breath hitches.
You’d recognize Mira’s form anywhere. And even if you didn’t, the rapier that threatens to be swallowed by the darkness around you would be more than enough to confirm your suspicions. She’s eerily still as you stare at her, horrified.
Blood pools around her stocky body, and you think you’re going to be sick.
“Belle,” Bonnie says.
Mirabelle does not respond.
You’re too dazed to move.
The sound of the spotlight flicking on and off is deafening. You wince and pull at your hat in pain.
When you’re able to recover, a new figure is piled heedlessly atop the Housemaiden.
You choke on air.
“Za,” Boniface says.
Where your first victim friend had been face first on the floor, Isa is not so lucky. He is right side up, draping over the other on his back. You see the awful mark you had left on him. It still dribbles with blood.
Your hands move at once and lay to rest at two separate points. One covers your mouth, desperate to stop you from crying. The other clutches at your chest. At your heart.
Your head swims with realization. Isabeau didn’t have one of those anymore thanks to you.
You feel putrid.
The stage light blinks again. A third figure is now overtop the Fighter.
You think this may start to constitute as cruel and unusual now.
“Dile,” the Kid says.
She’s in pieces. The majority of her body is haphazardly overlaid on the other two, but her head is detached. It’s precariously poised, sitting in an indent the three collectively make up, and its gaze is trained directly on you.
You try to scream.
You can’t.
So instead, you fall to your knees and sob. You feel revolting. You did this! You did this! YOU DID TH—
“Am I next?” you hear the Kid ask in front of you. “Is it my turn?”
You shake your head as hard as you can. NO! you try and fail to wail desperately. I WOULD NEVER!! I WOULD NEVER!!!
They do not hear you.
You feel a tug on your stoma—-
(You don't know how much longer you can keep doing this.)
You make a wish.
It’s your stardust’s turn to ask a question. You’ve been going back and forth for a while now, so you’re intrigued and excited to hear what this loop’s topic may be.
Siffrin ducks his face into his cloak and doesn’t look at you as he speaks.
“I… keep having these weird dreams whenever I die sometimes,” he says quietly.
“Oh~?” you prod. “Like what, Stardust~?”
“There’s a couple,” they murmur, “But the one bothering me the most is the one where I…” He falters, voice trembling. “I’m…”
You raise an eyebrow and pull your hands together, waiting patiently for them to continue.
They’re barely whispering when they say the words.
“I’m… eating my friends. Whole.”
Hands clawing, flesh tearing, veins popping, look at what you did, look at what you did, LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID—
…You don’t think you want to have this conversation anymore.